Surrounded by bitches

I give Fox an encouraging head rub and launch the hedgehog back towards the pond. She seems happy enough with that. The guy, who really is rather the nice, comments that I’m a natural.

Well isn’t that nice (or smooth, whatever). We chat about his dog, Cash, named after, you guessed it, The Man in Black, Johnny Cash.

Now, this must be beginners luck because I know I can’t keep the dog chat going too long but music, that I can do. I love Johnny Cash and actually think it’s super cool that he’s given his dog such a rock ‘n roll name.

“So is Cash a big hell-raiser, then?” I resist the urge to ask if he’s got an amphetamine problem like his namesake did. It’s not really appropriate is it? Anyway, he’s laughing, so I’m doing alright.

“Ha, not really, have you seen him? He’s daft! He does have groupies though.” It’s true, Cash is surrounded by bitches, Fox being one of them. Thinking about it, Cash and Fox would make an excellent pairing. Like Jay Z and Beyonce or Sonny and Cher.

Cash’s daddy (in this environment we’re mummies and daddies) asks me if I’d like to carry on walking up to Kenwood House for coffee. Result! A mini date! I can’t quite believe my luck. We chat about our jobs, he works in television, I am, apparently, an intrepid investigative journalist.

I decide not to tell him I’ll probably be writing about this experience. Not yet anyway. Maybe when we’re married. It’s really nice because, well, he’s lovely, but also because it’s really natural. It’s not often that you can get chatting and then spontaneously take it further.